


Shot Glasses and Bad Decisions

by RandomReader13



Series: Dark Angels and Demon Brats [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Families of Choice, Found Family, Gen, Good Slade Wilson, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Pseudo-sibling relationships, Underage Drinking, alternatively titled teens are stupid, can be read as standalone, he's not terrible but, his parenting could use some work, i guess, i love my disaster children, i love that that tag exists, idk what else to tag, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22058491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomReader13/pseuds/RandomReader13
Summary: Rose and Jason get into shenanigans when on a training mission with Slade.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Rose Wilson, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson, Rose Wilson & Slade Wilson
Series: Dark Angels and Demon Brats [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214049
Comments: 31
Kudos: 157





	Shot Glasses and Bad Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments mean the world to me!  
> Alternate title: Teens are Stupid

Jason pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until sparks exploded across his vision. His mouth tasted like copper and mud. He sat up, staring at the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the ratty curtains and listened to the other occupants of the room breathe. Apparently he hadn’t been quiet enough, because another, smaller figure sat up, barely rustling the blanket wrapped around her.

Rose watched him for a long moment, the moonlight bouncing off her white hair, before glancing at the room’s sole bed. Jason automatically followed suit. Slade’s breathing remained steady, but that didn’t mean anything when it came to the mercenary. Rose edged carefully closer to him. She leaned close to his ear and breathed, “I saw some chairs in the lobby.”

Jason felt like pointing out that, with his enhanced hearing, whispering would do jackshit if Slade was awake and listening, but a car drove past the window, sending a flare of brighter light across the room, and he flinched, half-expecting a roar of heat and flame and _can’tbreathecan’tmovemakeitstop_. His head felt light and he nodded, getting up and grabbing his shoes, putting an embarrassing amount of focus into not falling over. They tiptoed out into the hallway of the small motel they had been staying in for the past two days. Once Rose closed the door, only a faint click announcing their exit, they pulled on their shoes and wandered down the stairs to the lobby.

The harsh lights of the lobby were a relief, banishing the red undertones of his memory. Before Jason could head over to the old fabric couch, Rose grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door. “What are you doing?” he asked, but he didn’t fight her, partly out of the disorientation and partly in the hope that some fresh air would drive the lingering scent of smoke from his nose.

She pushed open the door and led the way out into the night. Jason inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and savoring the distant sirens, the pulse of life that only cities had. It wasn’t Gotham -- less pollution, the buildings looked different, much less chance of being murdered by some freak with a theme -- but it still called to something in Jason’s bones. He never really belonged in the League’s bases, never felt at home when his teachers lived in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. He was built from grit and rusty fire escapes and his lungs were more accustomed to smog than fresh air.

“You’re having nightmares,” Rose said, interrupting his train of thought.

“Yeah, and the sky is blue.” His voice was broken glass and shifting stone. He cleared his throat and glanced up. “Very, _very_ dark blue, at the moment.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re remembering shit again.”

“Again,” Jason gestured dramatically at the sky, grateful for the lack of stars. In Ethiopia galaxies had swirled overhead, almost like he could reach up and touch them. Who knows, maybe after his lungs had finally given out and his heart stopped fighting, he had.

“Shut the fuck up and let me finish! You wanna forget.”

He refused to let himself flinch. “Congratulations, you’ve truly reached new levels of obviousness.”

She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. He wheezed. “You little _bitch_.” The pain grounded him, but he didn’t let her see the gratitude filling his chest.

“You’re doing that thing where you cover up your freaking out with being a dick. Knock it off. You wanna forget, I wanna do something less mind-numbing than cleaning my equipment for the sixteenth-million time, so,” now it was Rose’s turn to gesture dramatically, pointing out a bar from which loud music was pouring.

Jason stared at her. “You are fifteen.” The same age he was when- no, no don’t think about it.

She raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Jason shrugged, shaking off images of white hair turned red with blood. “Nothin’, obligatory protest.”

“Drinking age is eighteen here.”

“And you are definitely not eighteen. Neither am I.” He hadn’t thought he ever would be. He had watched the timer ticking down, each number a year he would never reach.

“You’re close enough.”

Jason raised his own eyebrow as he pushed open the door. “And you don’t give a fuck?”

“Exactly. And neither will they when they get a load’a this.” She patted her pocket and he grinned, falling into the familiar banter with an internal sigh of relief.

“Bribing the bartender, eh? What would daddy say?”

“Shut the fuck up, Zombie.”

“You sound just like him.”

Rose marched right up to the bartender and slapped a wad of bills down on the countertop. “Eight shots of tequila.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “You know, the goal is not actually to get alcohol poisoning.”

“I’ve got my dad’s genes and you’ve got your zombie thing goin’ on,” she said, pushing the money closer to the bartender. “So shut up.”

The bartender stared at her, then at Jason, then at the pile of cash. Jason could see he was wavering and pulled out his ID, one of several fakes he had on him at all times, and handed it over. It was flawless, as all the fakes Talia gave him were, and the bartender handed it back, looking a little relieved and avoiding looking at Rose. He scooped up the money, hiding it in his apron, and set the shot glasses on the bar.

Jason picked up the first one, watching the way the light sparked off the glass. He glanced at Rose. She grinned at him challengingly, lifting her own shot. Jason grinned too, deciding fuck caution and restraint and all the other things Talia and Slade and his other teachers had been drilling into him. He clinked their glasses together before tossing back the shot. It burned on the way down and his eyes watered, but it wiped away the lingering remnants of ash in the back of his throat.

Rose was already grabbing her second and Jason took a moment to wonder if she did this often or if she was just putting up a front.

“What’re you waiting for, Zombie, an invitation?” She slammed her shot glass down on the bar and whooped. “Another!”

Jason snickered and followed her example. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“I am a son of Asgard you fool,” she said, holding out her third shot for him to clink. “And _who’s_ the zombie here?”

Jason snorted and tilted his head back, raising the glass to his lips. He glanced in the mirror over the bar and choked, spewing tequila as he coughed. “Oh shit,” he gasped when he could breathe again.

Rose followed his gaze and blanched, snatching up her last shot. A big hand plucked it from her grasp and set it on the bar with a clink that sounded louder than a gunshot and twice as deadly. Jason kept his eyes firmly on the counter, shoulders hunched in a useless attempt to avoid attention.

“Rose,” Slade said smoothly. “Jason.” Oh God, they were dead. They were so, so dead. “I didn’t know the lobby extended this far.” He was using that calm voice that meant he was really, truly pissed off. Why did he let Rose talk him into this?

Slade gripped the back of his neck and Jason swallowed hard, allowing himself to be steered away from the bar. Someone laughed and normally Jason would have flipped them off but he was too busy contemplating his approaching doom to care. The door swung shut behind the three of them, cutting off the music and voices, but Slade’s grip didn’t relax. No one said a word as they walked the two blocks back to the motel. Dread rose and coiled in Jason’s stomach. He had sparred with Slade enough to know the man hit like a truck, and that’s when he was just teaching.

They reached their door and Rose fumbled to open it. Slade pushed them both inside. Jason staggered forward and spun around, every instinct he had screaming at him to run. But there was nowhere to go. Slade turned to face them, folding his arms, eye narrowed. The silence stretched.

“Jason was having nightmares!” Rose burst out. “He needed to forget!”

Jason looked at her, aghast. “Don’t you dare pin this on me, this was _your idea_!”

“Because I was trying t-”

“Shut up.”

They both shut up. Slade pulled off his jacket, slinging it over the room’s one chair. Jason braced himself. “Go to bed,” Slade grunted, heading into the tiny bathroom. Jason blinked, staring at the door. His brain whirred, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and coming up blank. Rose grabbed his arm and tugged him over to his bedroll.

“Do what he says,” she hissed, pulling off her shoes. The League didn’t provide pajamas, only the simple black trainee uniform, so Jason numbly tugged off his own shoes and curled up in his bedroll. He didn’t close his eyes, staring at the light shining under the bathroom door, every sense strained to the max. It wasn’t until Slade had been sleeping - or at least looked like he was sleeping - for twenty minutes that Jason tugged the blanket up to his chin and let himself follow suit.

* * *

Jason jerked awake, gasping and choking. It took him a second to orient himself, recognize Slade standing over him with an empty bucket and Rose bolting upright a couple of feet away, her hair plastered to her face. Jason had no idea where he had gotten the bucket, but that was the least of his worries, if the smirk on Slade’s face was any indication.

“Get dressed,” Slade said, dropping the bucket with a _clang_ that made Jason’s head ring. “We have a lot to do today.”

Jason staggered to his feet, head pounding like someone had kicked him. Several times. He paused halfway, arms braced against his knees, trying to swallow back nausea. Rose wasn’t so lucky and he heard the bucket scraping across the floor and her retching. That just made his own nausea worse, so he stumbled to the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as he could -- which was barely lukewarm -- and letting it pound on the back of his neck. Slade was waiting, though, so he got out after three minutes and got dressed, grimacing at the scratchy towel.

As soon as he opened the door Rose shoved past him, bucket clutched in shaky arms. He made the mistake of not immediately staring at the floor and Slade locked eyes with him, the smirk still firmly on his face. Jason swallowed hard and located his shoes. Five minutes later he and Rose were standing together, dressed in their usual loose workout clothes. Slade surveyed the two of them, arms folded behind his back, before turning and leading the way out of the room without a word. Jason and Rose exchanged a glance before following.

Jason winced when the rising sun stabbed at his eyes, raising one hand to block the light. Slade raised an eyebrow at him and he dropped the hand quickly.

“First order of business,” Slade said. “We’re going to go on a nice run to get warmed up.”

Jason could see Rose cringe beside him, and felt absurdly grateful that he had spit out most of his third shot. His head was pounding like a jackhammer, but his stomach had settled a little in the fresh air. He tightened his jaw and nodded. Slade still had that infuriating smirk on his face as he turned and led the way at a brisk jog. Jason quickly discovered that his stomach was not quite as settled as he had thought, and he focused on keeping his breathing even and not collapsing into the fetal position. Rose stopped abruptly a few blocks later to throw up in a luckily-placed garbage can and Jason faltered, glancing from her to Slade, who hadn’t paused. Rose gestured for him to keep going, a fierce glare on her face before her head disappeared back into the can, and Jason hurried to catch up. Rose rejoined them a little while later, breathing hard, face pale but determined.

“You- okay?” he managed through tight lips.

“Shut up.”

Slade must have led them on a circuit of half the city before they made it to a small, neglected park. Jason was panting and felt like his head was being stabbed with an ice pick, but he straightened out of his hunched over, hands on knees position when Slade looked at him. They weren’t done, all three of them knew it, and Jason would be damned if he cracked this early. Rose’s hair was coming out of her bun, stray strands swinging down into her sweaty face, and she pushed them impatiently behind her ears. Slade looked completely unruffled, as if he had just strolled out of the room and taken a bus to the park. Normally Jason would be nearly as unaffected, and he hated that a simple jog reduced him to this state.

“Get on with it,” Rose gritted. “We all know you’re not done.”

Slade arched an eyebrow. “We never finish after a simple jog, Rose.” His expression was more than a little amused and Jason grit his teeth at the patronizing tone. “This is nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up.”

“Bull-” she took a deep breath, “- _shit_.”

“Well if you’re so eager.” Slade’s face dropped the amusement. “Drop and give me fifty. You have three minutes.”

Jason knew from experience that the timer started the second Slade said it, so he dropped to the ground immediately and started doing reps. He had to stop ten pushups later, arms braced and sweat dripping off his nose, fighting down the roiling in his stomach. He could feel Slade’s gaze on his back, and started up again. He could see Rose struggling through her own reps from the corner of his eye. It could have been worse, he reminded himself as his arms shook and he tried to remember how much time had passed. Slade hadn’t beat the shit out of them and had even granted them an extra thirty seconds to complete the challenge.

Jason had counted forty-six reps when Slade’s cool voice said, “Time.” He gritted his teeth harder through the last four -- the timer may have stopped but Slade didn’t stand for unfinished tasks -- and collapsed face-first into the grass, trying not to whimper from the knowledge that they would have to repeat the exercise until they passed. The slightly damp smell of the grass and dirt was oddly soothing, and he reluctantly pulled himself up. Slade was staring impassively down at them, arms folded, one finger tapping thoughtfully against the opposite bicep. “Twenty more for incompletion.”

Jason almost cried from relief.

The next two hours passed in the same way, with Jason and Rose struggling through various exercises and inevitably falling short. Jason was doing pullups on a tree branch when the nausea finally got to be too much and he dropped to the ground, diving for a bush. At the end of it all they were covered in sweat and dirt, hair sticking up or flying in all directions, and Jason desperately wanted to down painkillers and sleep for a week. After a miserable trek back to the motel, five-minute showers, and another walk to a nearby cafe, Jason found himself staring down a plate of eggs. Two bananas sat next to the plate and he reached for those first.

“Eat the eggs,” Slade grunted, scrolling through a tablet. “You need the B12.”

Rose was forcing down the protein across from him and he reluctantly picked up his fork.

They spent the rest of the day on blessedly still work, though the math and squinting at blueprints did make his headache worse. Slade wasn’t the kind of person to force people to go without painkillers, no matter his personal aversion to using them, but he informed the two of them in no uncertain terms that their small stash was for injuries, and as neither of them were bleeding or broken they had no need for them. Jason settled for drinking copious amounts of water and keeping the curtains firmly closed.

* * *

For a few moments Jason wasn’t sure what woke him. His internal clock said it was around midnight, a few hours after the early night Slade had granted them, and the room was still and silent. Rose slept undisturbed a few feet away. As his senses adjusted, he caught quiet murmuring coming from the bathroom.

“-caught them drinking shots at a bar. ...no, don’t worry about it, I took care of it.” Slade’s voice was amused as he said, “They won’t be doing that again any time soon.”

_Try ever_ , Jason thought to himself, rolling over and pulling the blanket to his chin. He was asleep again in a matter of seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Many months ago, when I started this, I did So Much research trying to figure out how much tequila would get a normal teen hammered and then factored in their advanced healing/metabolisms. There was math involved. I looked up BMIs. I've never had a shot, guys, I'm clueless, don't @ me  
> I also googled the number of pushups per minute different armed forces have to do to get in and holy shit the Marines are insane.


End file.
